


Consequences

by Batty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Druids, F/M, Gen, Memory Alteration, Panic Attacks, Peter Hale is a douche, Psychological Trauma, Shapeshifting, crack theory, i just wanted to tag that sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batty/pseuds/Batty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Paige-is-Jennifer! Crack Theory man all aboard]</p>
<p>“Listen, what exactly do you think getting murdered under a sacred druid tree does to you? You think it’s a walk in the park? A straight trip to the afterlife while your blood drips down sacrificial ground that’d been used to induct hundreds of mystical leaders? If Derek had found out about just how much he’d ruined her damn life, lemme tell you, things would be a lot worse than they are now.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> not sure if i even want this theory to be canon, but damn if it wasn't fun writing it

There was a pounding in her skull—painful, unrelenting, transformative.

Jennifer raised a hand and brushed her hair back from where it had fallen before her face, moaning aloud. The couch under her shifted as she did, cushioning her as she attempting to sit up. There was a taste of copper in her mouth, like she had bitten her tongue somehow. She began to pry her eyes open to the dim light of her apartment, groaning, “What just happened?”

She froze.

This wasn't her apartment.

One of her students stared back at her, by his side a familiar looking girl whose eyes were narrowed in suspicion. Jennifer blinked. The illusion didn’t dispel itself. This _really_ wasn’t her apartment. “Huh?”

The boy, Stiles, looked over at the girl beside him and said, “Totally your fault.”

“As if!” she scoffed, folding her arms. “It’s yours, Mr. Let’s-warn-potential-victims.”

He frowned and pointed a finger. “Now listen here, that is—“

“What,” Jennifer spoke aloud, her voice croaking strangely, like she hadn’t used it in a while, “What are you doing here? What am I doing here?” As a matter of fact, what was _here?_ Her eyes flitted quickly around and the familiarity of the place struck her. She wasn’t sure whether the shiver that ran down her back was due to the fact she’d had sex with a very attractive werewolf not ten feet from where she was sitting, or because she’d been kidnapped and forced to watch the very attractive werewolf she’d just had sex with kill one of her students.

“You came here,” the girl stated plainly, her stance radiating tenseness. Cora, _that_ was her name, Jennifer remembered vaguely, as through a haze, Cora was Derek’s younger sister, the one he’d had to go tell to bug off because she kept following them to the—

Her head gave another nasty ache, seeming to squeeze her brain to mush. Jennifer winced at the pain, but at least it seemed to have jump-started her memory. Sucking in a deep breath, she struggled to say, “Yes, I came to see Derek, to see if he was okay after…everything,” there was no need to explain, by the way they both looked away at the open concern of her words, “I brought banana bread.”

Jennifer had no idea why she felt the need to add that, only that she was really very sure she’d come here with something, like a Tupperware box or a basket or a—

_Backbag where’s my backbag must’ve dropped—_

She coughed suddenly, feeling her throat constrict in a way that it hadn’t in over a decade. There was something horrible lurking just over her but she knew that if she looked at it then it would know. She tried to push it down. The feeling stayed with her. Her chest seemed to want to strangle her. When Stiles moved forward to help her, Jennifer waved him away. “No, it’s fine, just some asthma. Give me a minute.”

He looked confused for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I used to get them all the time, I just—“

“I meant about the asthma part.”

Jennnifer raised her head slowly, the pounding currently echoing in her skull almost unbearable. Something about the way he was looking at her made her want to run, run away, run so fast that the monster chasing her down the halls couldn’t drag—

No.

She grew very still.

Cora was rolling her eyes, holding out the spacious black bag containing her tupperwared bakery goods like it was made of wolfsbane. “Look Stiles, you warned her about Derek’s cursed dick, she passed out, she woke up, now how ‘bout we actually go looking for a lead on this whole thing?”

He ignored her blaise tone, only throwing a dirty look over his shoulder, to which she threw a sneer right back at. Jennifer absently thought that the two would find it surprising how fast you went from hating someone’s guts to thinking they were the most wonderful person in the world. She almost didn’t hear his next words over the clenching of her chest and the drumming in her ears—

“If you could pay attention for a second, you’d realize that she is the lead.”

“That’s not,” Jennifer began to refuse, only barely understanding what he was saying. Her chest hurt again and she was almost certain she’d bitten her tongue, because there was the most _horrible_ taste of blood swirling around her throat. Stiles sat down on the couch beside her and began rubbing her back in soothing circles.

It helped some. Eyes narrowing in calculation, he said calmly, “Who told you they were asthma attacks?”

“My therapist, of course, why are you asking—“

Now Cora jumped in, her eyebrow arching as she asked, “What kind of therapist is allowed to give that kind of diagnosis? Isn't that kind of stuff for, y'know, medical-type doctors?”

Jennifer didn’t understand what they were trying to tell her, didn’t they know she needed her inhaler, the one back at her house, on top of her dresser, next to her sheet-music—

“It’s a panic attack, Ms. Blake. Not asthma. You just need to calm down.”

What on earth was going on? Jennifer pushed away from her student and stood, pushing her hair away from her face where it was sticking to the quickly forming beads of sweat. Her hand wiped away the corner between her eyes and halted suddenly, sensing something wrong, missing. She pressed her fingers under her left eye and recognized the sensory memory of something being there, something missing.

For a quick moment, she felt it again, the skin on her face twisting to make— _reveal_ —a mole. It was hers. It wasn’t. It was hers. It wasn’t.

Calmly and rationally, Jennifer realized she was going insane.

Cora moved over to Stiles, keeping her eyes on the teacher. “Uh, I think your friendly warning about Derek’s exes might’ve backfired.”

Stiles looked over at her disbelieving, saying, “Really? Now is the time you chose to speak up about my decisions? You couldn’t have said something before I told her about Paige?”

“Paige,” Jennifer repeated, the noise in her mind pounding louder and louder until it could almost be mistaken for a drum, a call to war, an ancient chant that haunted her every waking moment, “Who’s Paige?”

The cut on her tongue was getting worse, the metallic taste of her own blood almost seeming to seep from her mouth. She tried to push it down, tell herself it was nothing, absolutely nothing, but just then Cora’s face turned white.

“Black blood…”

The world rushed around her and Jennifer fell.

Images flitted in and out of her vision, of a carefree young boy with a smile that could light up the space around him and a wizened young man that could suck it all back with a single frown. There were flowers around her, tree roots nestled in her toes and bright purple flowers bursting from her bookbag she held cradled in her arms. People said things, too loudly, too brightly.

A familiar face crossed her botchy vision, looking terrified and out of place among the foliage. It was her therapist, with his blue eyes and smart grin that’d managed to convince her so many times to spill every anxiety she had, every strange nightmare that’d repeated over and over, with the trust that he’d help her forget with that quick smile of his. Although it was twisted more into a grimace now. It was disheartening really, to see your therapist look so upset. She may have said as much, as then two hazy figures began to attack him.

“Her therapist? Her freaking therapist? Dude, that’s _sick_ , what kind of game are you—“

“It’s not a game, it’s called trying to fix things! Which, might I add, you two managed to screw up with a _single_ conversation.”

“Yea. Blame us for ruining your attempts to ruin her life.”

“If you were paying attention in the slightest, you’d realize this is _saving_ her life! Hers and Derek’s.”

“Right.”

“Listen, what exactly do you think getting murdered under a sacred druid tree does to you? You think it’s a walk in the park? A straight trip to the afterlife while your blood drips down sacrificial ground that’d been used to induct hundreds of mystical leaders? If Derek had found out about just how much he’d ruined her damn life, lemme tell you, things would be a _lot_ worse than they are now.”

“And what part of her dating Derek isn’t, you know. A lot worse.”

“Fuck.”

“Backing you on that one.”

A growl, terrifying, so deep it sent shivers racing down her back echoed through her, pushing the pounding sound of eternity down for a moment. “I’ll deal with you two and Derek later. Right now, I have to do damage control.”

She only had time to gasp before there was a jolt on the back of her back, the scratch of too-sharp nails--painful, unrelenting, transformative.

And then nothing.

 


End file.
